


Hallucinations

by Geromy



Series: Mcreyes Winter Break 2018 [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, M/M, Post-Recall, Psychobabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geromy/pseuds/Geromy
Summary: McCree often finds shadows hiding over his shoulder. Weird that this time, it talks.McReyes Winter Break 2018 -> Day 7: Fireplace





	Hallucinations

There was something beautiful about watching a fire through a whiskey glass. The way it made the lip of the cup shimmer, and make the drink inside of it glow a warm, homey orange. It was like the drink tasted better just for being nicer to look at. 

Not that it really mattered. McCree was going to finish this entire bottle regardless of how it tasted.

The cup in his hand was empty in a gulp, and he set it down on the coffee table to fill it up again. He briefly wondered how he ended up here. This mansion wasn’t befitting of a man like him. Deserter, criminal, bounty-on-his-head low life. But, the woman at the bar had taken a liking to him, and he went home with her, and he had fucked her, and he had left her to sleep alone. Now he was on her couch, drinking her whiskey, watching the fire she’d lit before they went upstairs.

An honest man would have left, but he wasn’t an honest man. Tried to be once, a long time ago. Didn’t work out. 

He sat back with his refill, tipping it to his lips. The flames flickered and licked upwards, a billow of black smoke making it way upward into the chimney. Rare to see an honest-to-God wood burning fireplace these days. He supposed it  _ would _ be a luxury for the super rich. 

An arm moved around the back of the couch, and he took another large gulp, feeling his vision blur when he pulled the glass away. He started to survey the room. Mostly book shelves, but a couple paintings also. Real paintings, with texture, not just projections or prints or posters. They were probably worth millions nowadays. 

If he were less of an honest man than he was, he would have robbed this woman blind. 

His eyes scanned everything the glow from the fire reached. Behind him though, just above his right shoulder, there was a dark spot. A shadow, of something not standing there. Someone not standing there. 

“Figures a house this old would be haunted,” he slurred, turning away and finishing his drink once more. He leaned forward, picking up the whiskey bottle and getting ready to pour.

“You’ve had enough.” 

A voice behind him. From that gap in the light. Almost familiar but not quite. Something off. Or maybe he was just too drunk to remember. 

He turned to look at the shadow again. He watched as its firm edges began to fade away, what was once just an absence of light turning into a whirlwind of smoke. And out of it stepped a man, hidden under a hood, with wide shoulders. He felt himself move a hand toward Peacekeeper out of habit. But this was just a hallucination. He would have heard someone come in. This woman lived alone. So there would be no point shooting a bullet at it.

“McCree.” 

It spoke again, voice hidden behind an owl’s mask. McCree wagged a finger, brain chugging along as well as it could with the amount of alcohol currently in his bloodstream. 

“Talon,” he said, putting together where he recognized this mask. He probably should be more concerned, but Talon had no business with him. Unless they were going to be another organization on the long list that have tried to recruit McCree, completely ignoring that he’d been a lone wolf for years now. Talon and Overwatch had their feud. But McCree and Overwatch were… 

Were they done? He’d received the recall from Winston. Plenty of his old friends had replied to it. He even spoke to Genji recently. Met by accident in Hanamura while McCree was making an escape after a particularly rowdy altercation with a former Deadlock lacky. He described his life after he left Blackwatch. The work he’d accomplished in Nepal to better himself. The fact that he had gone to his brother, who, their entire time knowing each other, Genji had nothing but vitriol to spit about him, describing in detail how he wanted to kill him, to maim him, to destroy every last thing that remained of his clan. And he had just. Forgiven him. Asked for his hand in allyship. 

It almost made McCree jealous, knowing he would never be able to achieve a righteousness like that. He’d never be good. He’d never reach that point of self respect and forgiveness Genji had. He wanted it. But he didn’t have it. And the idea of going back to Overwatch after all this time. It was impossible to imagine. He’d left on his own pride, his own morals that he refused to back down from. To be one less aid in letting Blackwatch coup. 

It was a honest wonder that he even got invited back. That he hadn’t been blacklisted from any future initiatives. He poured a drink.

“I’m not here as Talon.”

That answer surprised him. But then the man walked, around from behind the couch. Heavy boots, thick, strong legs. And unmistakable shotguns from under his coat. Now he realized it. Exactly what this hallucination was supposed to be.

Suddenly, McCree wished he wasn’t so drunk. 

“Reyes,” he blurted, scrambling to sit up in his seat and stay facing him. Something exploded in his chest. The first real  _ feeling _ he’d had in recent memory. Something that burst past the alcohol and screamed for attention. “I thought- You were dead. You were all dead.” 

“Reyes is dead.” The words came out with a suspicious aggression. Like he was defensive. But McCree knew Reyes. He knew the way he walked, how tall he was, the inflection he had when he spoke. McCree’s heart was sinking, beating so hard it rattled his ribcage and ached. 

“Y’mean that like… A metaphor, right,” he bargained, unable to keep his usual smug, bullshitting grin off of his face. “Like,” he lowered his voice, dropping it to a growl in mockery. “The Reyes you knew is dead. There is no joy left in the world.” 

“ _ Enough. _ ” Reaper raised his voice, appearing directly in front of McCree suddenly. It would have shocked him, if he hadn’t seen his boss do it a million times before on the battlefield. If anything, this only confirmed his suspicions. 

“Still haven’t reversed all that junk O’Deorain did to you, huh? Told ya you should’na gone after her.” 

Reaper was leaning closer now, his mask close and threatening. Maybe, if McCree was still afraid of dying, he’d be more afraid now. 

“Moira made me near unstoppable and continues to, to this day,” he growled. “All you made me was a distracted babysitter. I wouldn’t be so high and mighty if I were you.” 

That stung. Cut through him and made him momentarily see red. But he ignored it, tipping his glass back and polishing off the last of the whiskey.

“So why are you here?” He asked. He was met with silence, nothing but the sound of the fire crackling behind him. It was beginning to die down- he could feel the air around him cooling off. 

“Overwatch will fall,” Reaper said instead, standing up straight. “It’d be in your best interested to avoid it.” 

McCree snorted, leaning back on the couch. He was losing coherency by the second. “Been there, done that. I avoided it last time you wanted to take it down and you feel the need to ask me to do it a second time? If I’m gonna betray you of all people, like hell my loyalty to the rest of ‘em means jack.” 

Maybe he’d look taken aback, if he had his face. Reyes’ doe eyes wide in surprise, eyebrows shot up, mouth turned down into a shocked pout. But as it was, it was just his mask. The draw back of his shoulders was the only indication he had even heard what was said. 

“So you aren’t answering the recall,” Reaper asked. He stood tall now, backlit by the fire. Truly an angel of death after all. What did Genji call it? Shiny somethin-or-rather. 

“I’m undecided.” He leaned forward, reaching past Reaper’s form to toss his cup down on the table. When he leaned back, he pulled a cigar out from the case on his holster. Lit it up with a match, taking a drag with hollow cheeks and letting the white smoke cloud out of his mouth. They were polar opposites now. White and black, but neither truly good or evil. 

“Decide,” Reaper snapped, his heavily armored arms crossing over his chest. “And decide right.” 

“You don’t think that’s what I’m gonna do?” McCree quipped, letting ash from his cigar fall to the cushion of this very expensive couch. “Y’ever consider maybe sometimes, I get a little lost on what all’s right and wrong, after the man I looked up to for years went rogue? After he  _ died _ on the wrong side of history?” He didn’t mean to raise his voice. But screaming seemed to be the only thing that eased the ache in his chest. “D’you have any idea how many years it took me to feel like myself again? How long I had to examine every damn mission in Blackwatch and decide for myself if what we did was right or wrong, cause all the sudden I couldn’t trust you to tell me anymore? You ever think of  _ anyone _ but yourself?  _ Boss? _ ” 

The silence that filled the room when he was done shouting was deafening. The crackling of the fire was the only reprieve. But as the flames got lower, the cracks and snaps of burning wood became far and few between. Might as well get a move on soon. He stood, wobbling in his steps, watching Reaper move back and out of his way. The same way he used to, disappearing into smoke and moving aside as if carried by a breeze. 

“You made me feel like I could be better. That I could make up for who I was in Deadlock, be good, make a difference, change the world. Turns out you were just tryna mold me into what you wanted. Convince me you knew what was right. Should have known, what with all the honeypots you sent me on. Talkin’ me through it, listenin’ in, makin’ me lean on you and trust you, all so you could manipulate me into an obedient marksman for your own damn gain.” 

“Are you finished.” 

The reply shocked him but he didn’t let himself react beyond walking past Reaper towards the door. At least, he thought this was the way to the door. Fuck.

“McCree, stop.” 

Surprising himself he did, dead in his tracks. He only moved to pull the cigar out of his mouth, and let out another breath of smoke. 

“You know none of that’s true,” he said lowly. It made McCree’s throat feel thick, knowing full well he was right. “But whatever you want to tell yourself about me to get past it all, I’m not going to argue you on it. I always respected your choice not to get involved. It honestly made me happy, knowing you would be safe somewhere else.” 

McCree brought a hand to his face, pressing his fingers into his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. This hallucination was too much, and he was ready for it to go. 

“You’ve always been too clouded by self doubt. You can’t even see that the fact that you left  _ proves _ that you made your own morals and stuck to them, regardless of what mine were.” 

Getting shrinked by his own damn subconscious. He should really lay off the booze for awhile. 

“Why are you here,” McCree asked again, his voice cracking on him before he could clear his throat and get past the lump in it. “What do you want.” 

Reaper appeared back in front of him. Reached out his hands, landed them firmly on McCree’s shoulders. The weight of them was real, armor cold to the touch. So this wasn’t a hallucination. It was Reyes. Reaper was Reyes. It wasn’t just a story his conscience made up to scapegoat his issues on a boogieman. It was real.

“Don’t go back to Overwatch,” Reaper said. “I don’t want you to get hurt in the middle of this.” 

So it was a warning. That Talon was planning something for the recall. An ambush? Trojan horse? Something. Something big, that Reyes would feel the need to warn McCree in advance so he wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.

Despite what he was being told, and despite the fact that he swore never to go back. He was confident in his rights and wrongs. A tip off like this, he knew what the right thing to do with it was.

He’d never felt so sure about going to meet Winston, right now. 

He shot Reaper a smirk, though he was sure under this much alcohol, it looked anything but smug or confident. 

“Thanks for making my decision easier,” he said flatly, raising his cigar again and blowing the smoke directly into Reaper’s mask. “Funny that you’re willing to kill everyone else you fought alongside, but not me.” 

Reaper’s back straightened. His shoulders drew back. Looked like he was giving up. 

“Don’t mistake not wanting to for not being willing to. I will kill you, if you give me no choice.” 

“I’d like to see you try,” McCree challenged. “Bet that mask of yours would look a lot cooler with a bullet hole through it, drippin’ out red blood and black smoke. They say only people with guilty consciences have to hide their face when they kill people. Can’t be proud of what they’re doing. Or maybe you’re just ugly now.” 

That made Reaper laugh. A low, growling chuckle. 

“ _ Now?  _ So you found me attractive before?” He asked. McCree felt himself blush, his smirk turning into a grin turning into a smile turning into a hearty laugh. 

He felt it die down fast, leaving them in a room listening to nothing but the fireplace, the answer to the question hanging in the air. It was a while before McCree spoke again.

“Why don’t you just come home,” he suggested. He hoped it came across that he was referring to himself. “Leave Overwatch and Talon to have their battle. Bet we could find some gun-for-hire work in Mexico. Los Muertos is always up to some shit. We could finally learn Spanish, like we always talked about doin’.” 

They let the answer to that question hang in the air, too. 

“You’re going to do the right thing, McCree,” is what he said. “You always do.” 

And then he disappeared. A cloud of black smoke sinking to the floor. It slunk between McCree’s legs. He turned around to watch it, curling around the couch and under the coffee table, shooting into the fireplace. The flames split as they made room for it, and he disappeared, camouflaged by the smoke of the fire. That must have been how he got inside.

McCree slipped the cigar between his teeth, moving back to the couch and taking a seat on it. Thoughtful puffs of smoke left his mouth as he pulled out the holotablet, the Y and N buttons still blinking for his attention.

He pressed a finger to it, and raised it to his face.

“Sorry I’m late, ol’ pal. Where should I meet y’all for this rodeo?” 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter! https://twitter.com/stakesreyesd


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